


and i am content

by TallowCat



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms
Genre: B2nd Spoilers, M/M, angst i guess? more just janne thinking and being a big sad, its more likely than you think, janyew??? from /my/ tallowcat???, the janyew is kinda in the background but ehehhh idk, yew's there but like just there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 18:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20746673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallowCat/pseuds/TallowCat
Summary: in janne's opinion when the moon is up it's considered late. that may not be quite right, but late night worries sound much more poetic than early morning ones - not that he's a poet. he's just tired and thinking too hard in the dead of night. he tries not to feel horrible inside.





	and i am content

i.  
It’s very late. Or maybe early. Janne’s never been the best at guessing the time.  
The moon’s still out, so he guesses that means it’s late. Janne considers it early when the moon goes down. 12AM? Doesn’t matter. Janne knows his method is better, even if Yew says it’s not scientifically correct or some shit. Yew may be smart but he’s wrong. Janne is very good at being stubborn about this sort of thing.  
The point is: Janne is awake and it’s a time when he shouldn’t be awake.  
He’s never liked the dark. Bloodied floors, burning wood, the taste of copper and iron. The moon lets the room be lit without making their eyes ache. His eyes ache because he’s awake, not because of the moon. Janne hates being awake.  
His fingers feel like lead but he manages to shift it to lay on his chest. He’s never liked being able to hear or feel his own heartbeat. He’s always had a paranoid thought - one never corrected from childhood - that he’d feel the beats cease before he died.  
Janne pretends that idea doesn’t still scare him.

It could be colder. Could be hotter, too. His fingers feel very cold, uncomfortably so, but his feet try and kick out from under the blanket. For the most part he’s comfortable. He can focus on breathing, something he sometimes forgets.  
Yew shifts his head, curling closer, hiding deeper in his chest. He’s small, not ridiculously so, but enough that Janne can hide him in loops of arms and curls of hair. Janne wonders if Yew ever worries of his heart stopping.  
He pretends the thought of dying, of being killed, doesn’t answer that enough.  
Would he mourn?  
It’s selfish to wish not.

Pale flesh is bright under the silver of the moon, tired eyes manage to catch it under cocoa hair.  
Blood, bruises, tears.  
He squeezes Yew’s hip, fighting down the pricking tears, swallowing the bile, pretends he didn’t wish those things so much. A comforted life, a land of promise. Janne doesn’t want Yew beaten and broken, but there was a time he did. His heart aches as he thinks of it.  
The scar of his lip - nearly gone, from school days - he traces it as he breathes in. The jab of teeth, the apologies, it lightens his weight when he remembers the flush over Yew’s skin. He’s so pale, he turns so red.  
Janne wants to trace pictures on his freckles. They’re both too tired. Janne’s fingers are too lazy to even attempt it. Perhaps in the morning. Or the next night. Yew’s better at planning. 

Scented soaps, scented shampoo, Janne likes to take care of himself - his hair primarily - and Yew, despite his look, is a little thief. He’s given up on scolding. It makes resting nicer.  
He breathes in the scent of lavender, wishing he had the energy to brush his fingers through yew’s hair. An ugly part of him reminds him of the time he’d grabbed Yew’s hair in rage, tried to toss him over to the Fire Crystal. The notion of Yew aching, burning, makes him feel empty. Janne wonders if the anger is really gone. He’d lived his life in anger.  
Yew makes a small sound.  
Janne wonders if he’d have done all he did if he’d admitted his love. To himself, not to Yew. He buried that as long as he could, even if he could never truly hate Yew.  
Did he ever?

Behind his eyes a headache begin. Yew clutches his shirt in his sleep.  
Does Yew still fret over shadows in the dark? Or do new phantoms haunt him? Janne knows he introduced many. How many still linger? Yew hasn’t mentioned any nightmares.  
Janne knows he dreams of killing him - that moment Janne doesn’t know. Yew begs his apologies. Janne wonders if he mourned.

Brushing over pale skin Janne squeezes his eyes shut. It feels wrong, like his eyes are too heavy to be closed. It doesn’t make sense, but shut the fuck up, Janne knows his thoughts make sense. Some odd sort of sense, but sense nonetheless.  
He thinks of Yew, of the weight on his chest - one that doesn’t suffocate him like his hate used to - the breathing. Yew has little breaths. Janne says he has kitten sneezes, it makes Yew’s ears red every time.  
It’s hard to sleep.  
Janne doesn’t snuggle, not at all, never, not once. Especially not now. He doesn’t bury his nose in Yew’s hair, doesn’t ignore the pain in his neck and back.  
He listens closely. In and out, in and out.  
He focuses on Yew’s warmth.  
It’s comfortable.  
He’s content.


End file.
